Exile
by Lys ap Adin
Summary: There is a philosophical difference between herds and packs, though Hibari might beg to differ. Yamamoto x Hibari, smut.


**Title:** Exile  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> Yamamoto/Hibari  
><strong>Summary:<strong> There is a philosophical difference between herds and packs, though Hibari might beg to differ.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Smut for Porn Battle XIII. 1956 words.

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><p><strong>Exile<strong>

The Barassi were a bunch of outright bastards with a seriously vindictive streak, and for that reason and that reason only, Takeshi permitted himself to be exiled from the Vongola and the second home he'd made for himself in Italy. Well, exiled until Tsuna and Hayato had either placated the Barassi or had found a way to top the bribes that would see him arrested for having killed Paolo Barassi even though (as Hayato had said, chewing furiously on a wad of nicotine gum and shoving things—money, papers, clothes, a gun—into a suitcase for Takeshi) killing Paolo Barassi _was_ a public service.

"It won't be for long," Tsuna had promised, wearing a tight and worried smile. "We'll have you home as soon as we can."

That had been four weeks ago, just before they'd shoved him on a plane that had taken him to another plane, which had been followed by a ride in the back of a truck and bouncing over terrible roads and wondering whether he was going to acquire motion sickness at this late date. Then there had been a boat and another car ride, and he had emerged on the other side with a new name and identity waiting for him, thanks to Hana's wizardry and what was probably a lot of Vongola money to back it up. It wasn't a _bad_ identity, either: there was a house on a bluff that overlooked the sea, a blue sky that arched overhead like an overturned bowl, and a lady who came by every few days to bring him groceries and ask him how his novel was going while she tidied up.

Takeshi was pretty sure that Hana had set him up with some kind of private fantasy of hers, all vicarious wish-fulfillment through his necessity.

Once, there was a message tucked into the basket of fresh strawberries, a thin curl of paper with a single word, _wait_, inscribed on it. So Takeshi cooled his heels as best as he could, pretending to work on the slim laptop whenever he was expecting Sophia-san and spending time with his sword whenever he wasn't, and felt himself beginning to erode underneath the endless sweep of the unfamiliar sky and the ceaseless murmur of the waves against the beach.

He sat on the house's deck one evening, watching the sun sink in the west and wondering how he was going to manage to sleep when working with Shigure Kintoki only exhausted his body and not his brain. There was rum in one of the cabinets inside; so far he'd resisted that temptation by thinking of the things Tsuna might say about that. He was in the middle of trying to decide whether this was going to be the night when he opened the bottle and found out what kind of genie it held when he saw the lone figure walking down the beach, his silhouette outlined by the setting sun. His shadow stretched out long ahead of him, and as this was the most interesting thing to have happened in days, Takeshi checked to be sure that the gun and Shigure Kintoki were where he could lay hands on them easily and watched his approach.

After a few minutes of that, he took his hand off the gun and went inside to heat the kettle. Tea tasted strange here by the sea, where the air was heavy with salt and the scent of the water, but it was something of home and that, he had learned, was not to be taken lightly. When he had arranged the teapot and cups on the tray, the sun was slipping below the horizon and Kyouya was sitting in the deck's other chair. He accepted the cup of tea silently. There wasn't a single speck of sand marring the polish of his shoes or the cuffs of his trousers, though the wind was playing havoc with his hair.

Takeshi wondered whether that meant Kyouya really was that good or that his presence was a figment of his own ravenous imagination. Either way, at least this was something different.

They drank the first cup of tea in silence, accompanied by the sound of the surf and the wind sighing through the beach grass. Takeshi poured the second cup of tea for them and said, "Well?"

The light was fading fast now, throwing shadows across Kyouya's face—not that Kyouya's expression would have given much away if it were full noon. He didn't answer right away. The last of the sun sank below the horizon and the colors of the sky had started to deepen as the stars came out. Takeshi drank his cooling tea and counted off the stars as they emerged, since Kyouya seemed not to be in the mood to be hurried. It was full dark when Kyouya set his teacup down, a little click of porcelain against wood to signal that he was getting down to business, and said, "The Barassi still want you dead." He might as well have been delivering commentary on the weather for how interested he sounded.

"So what else is new?" The only thing that had really changed since he'd put Paolo Barassi out of their collective misery was that now the Barassi had an excuse.

"Very little."

Takeshi sighed and leaned his head back against his chair. "Not going anywhere, am I?"

Even in the near-dark, he could feel the way Kyouya turned his head to look at him. He made a sound, a soft one like sucking in air between his teeth, and moved with the speed that made fighting with him so interesting. He closed his hand on Takeshi's chin before Takeshi could blink at the sound of Kyouya's chair scraping across the deck or his own chair creaking under the sudden pressure of Kyouya's weight. Kyouya pressed his thumb against the underside of Takeshi's jaw, holding him in place, and his form was a darker outline against the evening sky.

Takeshi wondered what Kyouya could see, looking down at him. He'd always had eyes like a cat's.

"Tch." The noise was small, irritated. "You have the soul of a sheep."

"Seems like I've heard that one before." Takeshi raised his hand and curled it around Kyouya's wrist, running his thumb along the corded strength of it and the place where his pulse beat as steadily as the waves washing the shore.

Kyouya didn't loosen his grip, but after a moment he pressed forward. The chair creaked under them again as Kyouya slid his other knee onto it, straddling Takeshi's lap, but it was sturdy and held them both as Kyouya bent his head and kissed Takeshi. He tasted of the salt in the air and the lingering flavor of the tea. Takeshi couldn't help the sound he made against Kyouya's mouth, or the way he reached out for him, seeking his hips beneath the line of his suit jacket and gripping them.

Kyouya grunted against his mouth and released his chin. "_Sheep_," he said again, muttering the word against Takeshi's lips while Takeshi followed the smooth line of his belt to the buckle. This he could deal with even in near-total darkness, so he did, undoing Kyouya's belt and fly to reach inside, seeking out the warm, familiar weight of his cock. Kyouya braced himself with a hand planted on either side of Takeshi's head, breathing deeper and faster as Takeshi ran his fingers up and down the length of it, stroking him to hardness. He teased his thumb over the head, sliding it over the slit and the slick of moisture beading there, and listened to the sounds of Kyouya's breathing as it changed. He didn't have to be able to see Kyouya's expression to know how he looked just then: his eyes would be almost closed and his lips would be parted, all his expression turned inward and intent as he began to roll his hips into Takeshi's fist. It would have been best to be able to see him, but nothing in life was perfect. Takeshi listened instead, drinking in the sounds Kyouya made, the way his breath hitched as Takeshi changed his grip around smooth-hot skin, the little grunt he made every time Takeshi ran his thumb over the head of him, and the way he hissed when he came, spilling himself over Takeshi's fingers and probably his t-shirt, too, sticky and hot.

He leaned over Takeshi, breathing hard against Takeshi's ear as he wiped his fingers off and reached for Kyouya again. The line of his back was smooth and relaxed under Takeshi's palms, and the sound he made was probably the closest thing the human throat could make to a purr.

Takeshi had to bite down on his lip at that. "Kyouya," he said. It didn't come out very steady.

Kyouya exhaled, the gust of it stirring Takeshi's hair. "You sheep," he said. He closed his teeth on Takeshi's earlobe at the same time he reached down to palm Takeshi's cock through his jeans. The chair creaked beneath them as Takeshi pushed up against the weight of Kyouya's hand and the lick of sensation that ran through him. Kyouya made a quiet sound against his ear, a click of tongue against teeth like disapproval, and then the heat of his hand disappeared and the chair groaned a protest under the sudden redistribution of their weight.

Takeshi groaned too as Kyouya crouched on the deck between his knees and unfastened his jeans. "Kyouya—"

Kyouya's version of a laugh drifted up to him, the breath of a snort as he dipped his fingers into Takeshi's underwear and drew him out. Takeshi could see the barest glitter of Kyouya's eyes in the starlight before Kyouya bent over his lap and closed his mouth on his cock. Takeshi lost track of nearly everything then but the wicked, liquid slide of Kyouya's tongue against him and the pleasure that twisted up his spine. He reached down to Kyouya, holding onto his shoulders and sucking in deep breaths of air as Kyouya worked him with lips and tongue and slender fingers that knew all the right ways to press and stroke, until even biting his tongue until he tasted iron couldn't hold the pleasure of it at bay. He arched into Kyouya's touch as heat washed through him, scouring him raw with how good it was, and sagged again after it subsided, shaking against the chair's sturdy frame.

Kyouya stayed where he was, folding his arms across Takeshi's lap and looking up at him in silence until Takeshi's breathing had evened out again. Takeshi looked back at the dim shape of him and finally stroked his fingers through the hair that fell into Kyouya's eyes.

"Sawada traded with the Barassi." The words fell out of Kyouya's mouth, all unexpected and business-like. "The Medina operations."

Takeshi couldn't make immediate sense of that. "What?" The Medina operations—to the—those were the last of the Vongola's ties to the drug trade, the ones Tsuna had been trying to dismantle. "To the _Barassi_?"

"Yes." Kyouya sounded more annoyed by that than anything else, though Takeshi thought that perhaps he wasn't really all that irritated. "Because Sawada _also_ has the soul of a sheep."

Takeshi exhaled as his meaning sank home. "Not a sheep," he said, though the argument never had held much water with Kyouya. "A pack animal."

Kyouya's snort was as unimpressed as ever. "We're leaving in the morning."

"Great," Takeshi said, threading his fingers through Kyouya's hair. "Can't wait."

Kyouya huffed at him again, and leaned into his fingers just a bit. "Sheep."

"Yeah, yeah," Takeshi said, and it felt like the first time he'd smiled in ages.

**end**

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